


Ain’t nothing like the real thing, baby

by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Crack, Friends to Lovers, Harry's high when he uses the cucumber as a dildo, M/M, Marijuana, Masturbation, Object Insertion, Other, Smut, Sort Of, a cucumber to be specific, if the fic post didn't clue you in, just FYI
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-19 21:19:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18978565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullOnLarrie/pseuds/kingsofeverything
Summary: There are millions of ways to get off.Harry tries something new.





	Ain’t nothing like the real thing, baby

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooooo! In this fic, Harry fucks himself with a cucumber! If you're not into that, please hit the back button.
> 
> I'd never considered writing object insertion before, but I saw the cucumber pic for the mood board and this happened. Don't worry, Harry uses a condom, and so should you! And please please please, if you're going to fuck yourself (or someone else) with ANYTHING AT ALL, do some research _elsewhere._ As in, not here. As in, this fic is not the place to educate yourself about fucking a vegetable or any other noun. 
> 
> Thanks to Nic as always for being willing to read anything I write! ❤️
> 
>  
> 
> [Fic post is here if you'd like to make me happy and reblog it :D](https://kingsofeverything.tumblr.com/post/185208301610/aint-nothing-like-the-real-thing-baby-by)
> 
>  
> 
> Title comes from the song of the same name.

— 

“Jesus Christ, Harry. Did you buy these zucchini _because_ they look like dicks?”

“No.” Harry frowns at the pile of fruits and vegetables he just brought home from the farmers’ market, but his face morphs into a smile when he sees the zucchini. “I bought the cu _ **cum**_ bersbecause they look like dicks.”

“Did you really?” Louis asks, ignoring Harry’s pun.

“No, Louis.” Harry rolls his eyes, turning on the sink to wash a cucumber. He wants a salad. “They had too many, I think. Gave me these for free.”

Louis picks up the shortest one that curves a little and says, “This one’s Niall.”

“Niall can’t eat cucumber.” Harry shakes his head. “Because of his acid reflux.”

He turns to Louis, cucumber in hand, to ask him if he’d like salad for lunch and finds him holding the other four cucumbers. 

“Zayn,” Louis says, waving a cucumber about six inches long that tapers and flares in the middle. 

“When did you see Zayn’s dick?” Harry wonders briefly if that’s the question he should be asking.

“Walked in on him and Liam once when we were roommates.” Louis sets that cucumber down and hefts the absolutely massive cucumber that Harry swears got in the way of some sketchy fertilizer. “Saw Liam’s too.”

“Oh my god.” Harry tries to cover his face with his hands, but knocks himself in the forehead with the cucumber he’s holding instead. The last thing he wants to do is picture all of his friends with cucumbers for dicks.

“Funny! That’s what Liam said.” Louis lays the Liam cucumber on the counter alongside the Niall and Zayn cucumbers and takes the cucumber Harry was planning to eat from his hand. It’s a little more on the ripe side than the others. And covered in bumps which made Harry curious enough to Google them earlier. Stipples. He might have repeated it quite a few times on the walk home. It’s a good Scrabble word. Squinting one eye, Louis looks at the cucumber and says, “This one’s you.”

“Fuck you too, Louis.” Harry snatches the stippled cucumber back, points towards the living room with it. “Get out of my kitchen.”

Louis raises both hands in surrender. “Sorry, man, but it was either you or me, and well…” He picks up the last cucumber and _winks._

Of the five cucumbers, it’s the nicest. Smooth all over, rounded evenly on both ends, no stipples whatsoever, about eight inches long, and… Harry tries not to stare at the cucumber in Louis’ hand. The tips of Louis’ fingers don’t come close to touching and that information is too much for Harry to take. 

Oh god. 

That was the wrong way to think about it because his mind zeroed in on the last bit of his thought and zipped off straight past picturing Louis with a cucumber dick to picture Louis fucking him with a cucumber dick. To picturing Louis fucking him with his real dick, telling him how well he’s taking it. 

Harry focuses on dicing his cucumber dick effigy and one of the heirloom tomatoes, tossing them into a bowl with some spring greens and broccoli. He throws some leftover chicken on top and calls it done. 

The entire time they’re eating, Harry has to force himself not to think of his own dick as a cucumber. In his salad. He hates Louis. 

That’s a lie. 

He doesn’t hate Louis. Louis is his best friend and has been for as long as he can remember. Harry loves Louis. And Louis loves him too. Just not quite the same way. 

It was okay before they moved in together. When they were still in high school, they were best friends. Inseparable. Well, except during classes, since Louis was two years ahead. So Harry’s crush, while being massive—and the only one he’s ever had—was something he’d learned to live with over the years. It was familiar. They had their routines and Harry knew where he stood and how he was supposed to be behave around Louis. And then Louis was a freshman in college a full day’s drive away, and it was weird and horrible because they’d never spent so much time apart before. Harry _missed_ him. 

Then it got worse. While Harry was busy applying for college his senior year of high school, Louis was busy dating a _boy._ It upset Harry so much when Louis first told him—he waited until two weeks after their first date—that Harry backed out of spending spring break in Florida with him. No way was he spending a week watching Louis with his boyfriend. He lied and said he was sick. 

Louis spent the first four days of spring break texting Harry and giving him a play by play of what his vacation was like, sending him selfies and pictures of weird things he found. On the fifth day, Harry didn’t hear from him. Assuming that Louis’ boyfriend had finally succeeded at holding Louis’ interest, Harry took to his bed. His mom tried to bring him lunch, but he didn’t want it. And she tried again a few hours later with mint chocolate chip ice cream, but he didn’t want that either. So he’d fully expected to hear her knock and her voice through the door that night around dinner time. 

He’d never been more surprised when the knock came, but the voice that came through the door was Louis’ saying that he missed his family but that he missed Harry too. So he came home. Harry managed to convince him that he was on the mend and not contagious, so Louis stayed for dinner. Things were almost normal. And a few days later, Louis’ boyfriend broke up with him. By text. 

Louis hasn’t dated anyone since. And neither has Harry. They got an apartment together after Harry’s freshman year of college, and here they are. Still best friends. And roommates. It’s awful. Because it’s impossible to compartmentalize his feelings when they’re living together. Sharing a bathroom. Grocery shopping together. Studying together and watching movies together and cuddling on the couch together. 

Over the next week, Harry eats salad every day for lunch and the dinners that he cooks have so many vegetables that Louis starts refusing to try some of them out of protest when he’ll usually at least taste something new. Maybe he went a little overboard at the farmer’s market. But he’s determined to eat everything before it goes bad. He also may or may not have bought a stack of disposable pans and made half a dozen casseroles, giving away what wouldn’t fit in their freezer. 

“What is that?” Louis points at the jicama Harry’s slicing. 

“Fries.” Technically, it’s not a lie. 

Scowling at the white starchy vegetable, Louis says, “That doesn’t look like a potato to me.” 

“It’s jicama. It’s like, a little crisper than a potato as far as the texture goes, and the taste is sweeter.” Harry lays the vegetables on a lightly oiled pan as he slices them, then he seasons them, and puts them in the oven to roast. “Eat it or don’t, Lou. I don't care.” 

“I just wanted to know what it was.” Louis rolls his eyes and Harry sticks his tongue out at him. 

“Like the dandelion greens you refused to try and the kale you said you wouldn’t eat on principle.”

“I stand by my kale based principles. And why would I eat dandelions?”

“Dandelion greens, not dandelions. They’re not the same thing. I told you that.” Harry sighs and starts on the carrots. He eyes the last cucumber—The Louis Cucumber, because he even thinks about it with capital letters—but decides for once he’s got enough vegetables. 

“I’ll eat the whatever you called it, Harry. I’m sorry… It’s been a weird day.” 

“Why?” Harry glances at the cucumber again. He actually dreamed about it the night before, but not in a sex dream kind of way. No, his sleeping brain attached an actual cucumber where Louis’ penis should’ve been. So, really, it was more of a nightmare. Except that all day his head has been bouncing between the naked, cucumber wielding Louis from his dream and what he imagines Louis’ actual dick looks like when it’s hard, now that he has something to compare it to. 

“Saw River today,” Louis says, and Harry tries to keep his hands steady while he continues making dinner. Everytime the knife slices through a carrot making a satisfying sound, a rough _cla-thunk,_ Harry silently repeats _ex-boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, ex-boyfriend._ “His band is playing at some festival at the park on Saturday night. Like people bring blankets and I guess it’s like an outdoor concert with a bunch of bands.”

“You should go!” Harry cringes at his own forced cheerfulness. “Sounds like you’ll have fun.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe.” Louis opens the fridge and pulls out an open bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and pours two glasses. Dinner is mostly silent. Harry spends the entire meal trying to figure out what he’s going to do now that Louis is probably getting back together with his ex-boyfriend. 

—

The second that Louis walks out the door Saturday evening around six o’clock to go meet his ex-boyfriend and probably get back together with him and live happily ever after and forget that Harry even exists, Harry pulls the old, Christmas themed Tupperware that was once the home of cookies for Santa, but is now where they keep the weed. He smokes out of Louis’ dugout, reloading it immediately after each hit until he’s pretty stoned, intending to wallow and watch movies, and maybe clean the bathroom while Louis is gone. 

On his way to his bedroom to get his laptop, Harry stops in the kitchen and grabs a beer and a bottle of water out of the fridge, scoffing at the leftovers he’ll probably wind up eating for dinner. The Louis Cucumber is the only thing left in the basket on the counter and it catches Harry’s eye. He shakes his head, wondering for the billionth time exactly how similar it is to Louis’ dick. 

Instead of going back to the living room to watch movies, Harry climbs into bed, figuring he might as well stay there just in case Louis decides to bring River home with him. He definitely doesn’t want to witness that. So he makes himself comfortable and starts _The Notebook,_ only to get annoyed with it just a few minutes in with the idea of fate and true love and ugh. 

Maybe he’ll just take a bath and go to bed early. 

Maybe he’ll stop waiting around for Louis to fall in love with him. 

Maybe he’s kidding himself. 

The bath does what it’s supposed to do. Harry emerges from the fragrant, pink water feeling relaxed and doesn’t bother putting on clothes when he’d rather sleep naked anyway. 

Since the movie didn’t work, Harry tries music instead, listening to his favorite playlist on shuffle while he lays sprawled spread eagle across his bed. He’s still high from earlier, but he rolls off the mattress heading to the living room for Louis’ dugout, scowling at The Louis Cucumber as he passes the kitchen. 

Once Harry’s bored with smoking, mind swirling slowly, he lays back down and drifts into the music. He touches himself without thinking about it, trailing his fingertips over his stomach and chest, lightly dragging his thumbs over his nipples, and humming along as Britney sings _put your love all over me._

Harry scratches his fingernails up his thighs and goosebumps make every hair on his body stand up. He shivers, pressing his palm flat to his stomach. With his left hand around his semi, Harry rolls onto that side, reaching for the top drawer of his nightstand. 

Since he has the evening to himself, he might as well make it a good one. A finger or two or sometimes even three, if he’s feeling especially horny and flexible, makes him come so hard that he can’t walk for a few minutes after. He learned that the hard way the first time he found his prostate, standing up to go to the bathroom afterward and dropping back down to the mattress, dizzy and shaking. It’s why he’s never bothered with a dildo or even a plug—his fingers work just fine. 

Sitting up a bit, Harry rummages in the drawer until he finds what he’s looking for. A completely empty, and open, bottle of lube. He lets go of his cock to scoot over and survey the damage. It looks like the lube soaked into the wooden bottom of the drawer. Harry tosses the empty bottle at the wastebasket in the corner and heads for the kitchen. There’s got to be something he can use. Olive oil or like… 

The tub of coconut oil is still on the counter where he left it when he brought it home from the store. He scoops a spoonful into one of the tiny Tupperware containers he uses for salad dressing. Harry starts to leave the kitchen, freezing when his eyes catch on The Louis Cucumber. 

It takes him about two seconds to decide that _yes, he is that person._

With The Louis Cucumber in one hand and container of coconut oil in the other, Harry stands in the bathroom in front of the medicine cabinet, staring at the box of condoms, searching for an expiration date. He rips the box open and takes one. Good to know it’ll be a couple of years before they go bad, in case he makes a habit of… 

“I’m about to fuck myself with a cucumber,” Harry tells his reflection, managing to keep his voice level. But his mouth curves into a smile against his will. His lips are so dry—cottonmouth is the worst. Harry swishes with mouthwash and spits, and meeting his own gaze in the mirror, he says, “Let’s be real, I’m about to fuck myself with a cucumber while imagining it’s Louis.” 

If he wasn’t high, he’d probably be more embarrassed, but he just shrugs and carries everything to his room, lining it up on the nightstand and flopping onto the bed on his stomach. Not that it matters when he’s been on edge all week, but he’s not hard anymore, so he slides his hand between his body and the bed, pressing his dick against his stomach and enjoying the pressure. Wrapping his fingers around himself again, he shifts his hips until he’s almost fucking his hand, the head of his cock rubbing against the blanket. 

Once he’s hard, Harry rolls onto his side and reaches for the oil, scooping some out with his finger. The coconut oil stays where he puts it as he carefully reaches around and smears it over his rim. It’s strange feeling the oil melt from his body heat as he rubs circles around and around, and he figures he might as well use it on his dick too. His hand glides easily up and down his shaft once it’s coated in oil and he reaches back, tucking his fingertip inside. One finger fits the way it always does, and Harry hums, immediately thinking of Louis fingering him, like he always does. 

“Yeah, Lou,” Harry murmurs, turning his face towards the pillow. 

It’s been years that he’s been doing this, and he finds the familiarity soothing, pushing a second finger in with the first. He groans, trying to get deeper, but he always struggles with the angle at first. Harry opens his eyes and they fall on The Louis Cucumber on his nightstand. 

With more coconut oil, Harry adds a third finger, doing his best to twist and spread them, wanting to be open and ready, trying to be careful because he smoked so much weed earlier. Three feels like so much more than two. He jacks himself off with a loose grip, all of his focus on his fingers forcing more and more oil inside. Fucking himself with his fingers, he stops touching his cock, worried he’ll come too soon. His arm and hand start to cramp, so he slips his fingers free. Finally, he sits up, ripping open the condom and rolling it over the vegetable. It doesn’t cover the entire thing, but it should be enough. 

If Louis’ dick is anything like the cucumber… Harry doesn’t hesitate, bringing the tapered tip of the latex covered cucumber to his mouth, closing his eyes when he darts his tongue out to lick it. Louis’ cock would be warm, solid but soft, heavy on his tongue, and Harry pictures it sliding into his mouth. He pushes it to the back of his mouth, gagging and coughing, and trying again as soon as he catches his breath. Sucking on Louis in his imagination gets Harry hotter faster than anything, and soon enough he’s whining and drooling, lips stretched around the cucumber. 

Harry wraps his hand over the edge of the condom, holding it firmly on the cucumber, and gets onto his knees. Balancing on his left forearm, Harry slides the latex covered tip of the cucumber up and down in the oil in his crack. It feels huge, just the end pressing lightly against his rim, and Harry wonders how different Louis’ cock would seem. He takes a deep breath in and exhales, pushing until his body relents and he forces the end of the cucumber inside. 

“Fuck. Oh…” It stings at first, sharp burn taking his breath away, but Harry makes himself inhale and exhale until the pain fades. Groaning as he slides more of it past his rim, his body stretches around the vegetable, accommodating it, welcoming the fullness. He doesn’t stop, pushing until his thumb touches his rim, then he pulls back. 

Harry fucks himself slow and easy, still trying to be careful. He grazes his prostate when he can get a good angle, but loses it every time. It’s more frustration than he’s experienced masturbating. He doesn’t have enough hands. 

Harry shifts, putting the weight of his upper body on his left shoulder so that he can use that hand to stroke his cock for some relief. The position isn’t working, so he reaches down between his legs and grabs the end of the cucumber there, curling into himself, attempting to get a better angle.

Trembling, Harry whines quietly, close to the edge, yet his orgasm remains out of reach. Every time he feels it build, he gets a cramp or has to move slightly to keep from falling onto his side. 

Deciding to give up on the position he’s in, Harry pushes himself up until he’s kneeling, cock standing away from his body. He bends his knees and grabs the end of the cucumber, lifting and lowering his hips and riding it. It’s better. He hits his prostate every time he swivels his hips and sinks down, but it’s still not enough. If he were just using he fingers, he’d have come already. As good as it is, this isn’t a ringing endorsement for object penetration. Or dildos for that matter. 

With his eyes closed, Harry tilts his head back, moaning up at the ceiling. Louis would know what to do. He could finger him. Or fuck him with the stupid cucumber. Louis could fuck him with his cock. Imagining Louis’ pushing past the resistance, filling him up. So hot and so hard, so perfect…

Groaning shamelessly, Harry fucks himself faster, picturing Louis behind him, touching him, making him come. So close. Harry clenches around the cucumber, shamelessly calling out, “Lou!” 

“Harry?” The sound of Louis’ voice just in the hall tips Harry over the edge. Every muscle in his body tightens and releases as the heat flares in his belly, his cock flexes in his hand, his bedroom door swings open, and Harry comes, dripping onto the blanket below him, body shaking, unable to speak at all. Lifting his head he meets Louis’ wide-eyed gaze. He’s still standing in the doorway, hand resting on the doorknob, and Harry groans, unable to stop it. 

“Fuck,” Louis manages to say before he slams the bedroom door shut and Harry falls onto the mattress, cucumber slipping free. 

—

Harry was right. He can’t even roll over at first. His entire body trembles with aftershocks from The Louis Cucumber Orgasm for so long, that he stops trying to rush himself, stops pushing himself up onto his hands and knees because he keeps shaking and doesn’t get anywhere. Finally he’s able to roll onto his back.

If Louis had to find out about his crush, if Harry was going to ruin things between them, he supposes this is the most dramatic way to go about it. Using the corner of his sheet, Harry wipes the come and coconut oil from his body and slowly climbs to his feet. 

Hopefully Louis didn't stick around. Harry can't imagine why he would want to. Despite the dark apartment, he sneaks to the bathroom, tiptoeing out of his room, and turning the water as hot as he can stand it, so when the shower spray runs over his shoulders all he can think about is the heat. He stays there until the water turns cool and pulls a pair of loose, worn sweatpants over his still damp legs. 

To think he started out thinking that the only thing he needed to worry about was the fact that his ass would probably be sore for a few days. Turns out, it’s a pleasant sort of ache. Nothing like what he expected. But his heart is another story. 

There’s a heaviness in his stomach and though he knows it won’t help, he shuffles down the hall to the kitchen to grab a banana. And throw out the cucumber. 

“Harry?” Louis’ voice comes from the living room and Harry follows it like a beacon, tossing the banana peel in the compost bin and the cucumber in the garbage. 

All of the living rooms lights are off, and Louis is apparently sitting on the couch, waiting for him. 

Harry gathers his courage and says, “I’m so sorry, Louis. If you like, hate me now and want to move out or like, want me to move out—”

“What? No.” Louis turns, bending his knees and pulling his feet up onto the couch. “Sit. Please.”

Harry sits. Thankfully that doesn’t require thinking or speaking. 

“Okay,” Louis says quietly, reaching to turn on the lamp. “Do you want to tell me—”

“Tell you what? I thought what I was doing was pretty obvious.”

“Well, I mean, _physically,_ yes,” Louis agrees, and Harry lifts his eyes from his lap, trying to be an adult about this. He can own his choices. “But, um… Okay, so, I’m just asking so I’m absolutely sure, but did you say my name?”

Harry nods. 

“Were you pretending the, um… the cucumber was me?”

Harry nods again. “I can explain—”

“No.” Louis says it, quick and firm. And Harry’s heart hurts. “Harry, are you… Do you have feelings for me?”

“Yes,” Harry whispers, closing his eyes so he can’t see Louis’ reaction.

“Harry, look at me,” Louis’ voice is soft and gentle which almost makes it more painful, but Harry forces himself to meet his eyes. “I mean, I guess I’m all for experimenting? Never really thought much about vegetables. But, um… Just ask and I’ll at least consider it. I’m pretty sure I’m up for anything with you, so…” Louis bites his lower lip and scrunches his nose and Harry’s really happy he’s sitting down. “I’ve been in love with you for years, and—” 

Harry bursts into laughter, so relieved and surprised and happy that it’s all he can do. Louis _loves_ him. Louis has been in love with him for _years_. Louis says he’s up for _anything._

But Louis is frowning. Maybe cackling in his face wasn’t the most appropriate reaction. Harry tries to catch his breath, rushing to reassure him, “I love you too!” and immediately following that with the important question, “Watersports?”

“What? I… I mean, how? Like, I think there are different ways to do that.”

“Are you serious?” Harry smiles so wide, he knows Louis can probably see all of his teeth. 

“Yeah, I mean…” Louis lifts his hand, counting on his fingers. “I could pee on you, or you could pee on me, or I could—”

“Louis.” Harry reaches over and grabs his hand, pulling it into his lap. “I don’t, um… I mean, maybe? We can talk about that later. I was just… I was kidding. But now I’m thinking about it.”

Louis snorts. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it,” Harry says, like he has a million times before. Only this time he knows it’s true. 

Lifting his hand to cup Harry’s chin, Louis rubs his thumb over his bottom lip, and whispers, “I do.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> [Fic post is here if you'd like to reblog it ❤️](https://kingsofeverything.tumblr.com/post/185208301610/aint-nothing-like-the-real-thing-baby-by)


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